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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Bakchesarian Fountain and Other Poems, by 
+Alexander Pushkin and Various
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Bakchesarian Fountain and Other Poems
+
+Author: Alexander Pushkin
+        Various
+
+Translator: William D. Lewis
+
+Posting Date: October 14, 2012 [EBook #8192]
+Release Date: May, 2005
+First Posted: June 30, 2003
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BAKCHESARIAN FOUNTAIN, OTHER POEMS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Starner, Robert Connal and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE BAKCHESARIAN FOUNTAIN.
+
+BY
+
+ALEXANDER POOSHKEEN.
+
+
+
+AND OTHER POEMS, BY VARIOUS AUTHORS,
+
+
+
+TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL RUSSIAN,
+
+BY
+
+WILLIAM D. LEWIS.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+TO
+
+MY RUSSIAN FRIENDS,
+
+THE FOLLOWING EFFORT TO RENDER INTO THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE A FAVOURITE POEM
+OF ONE OF THEIR MOST ADMIRED BARDS, AND SOME SHORTER PRODUCTIONS OF OTHER
+RUSSIAN POETS,
+
+IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED,
+
+AS A SMALL TESTIMONIAL OF GRATITUDE FOR THE MANY KINDNESSES OF WHICH I WAS
+THE OBJECT IN THEIR MOST HOSPITABLE COUNTRY, IN EARLY LIFE.
+
+THE TRANSLATOR.
+
+Philadelphia, July, 1849.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  THE BAKCHESARIAN FOUNTAIN.
+
+  A TALE OF THE TAURIDE.
+
+
+  Mute sat Giray, with downcast eye,
+    As though some spell in sorrow bound him,
+  His slavish courtiers thronging nigh,
+    In sad expectance stood around him.
+  The lips of all had silence sealed,
+    Whilst, bent on him, each look observant,
+    Saw grief's deep trace and passion fervent
+  Upon his gloomy brow revealed.
+    But the proud Khan his dark eye raising,
+    And on the courtiers fiercely gazing,
+  Gave signal to them to begone!
+  The chief, unwitnessed and alone,
+    Now yields him to his bosom's smart,
+  Deeper upon his brow severe
+    Is traced the anguish of his heart;
+  As full fraught clouds on mirrors clear
+    Reflected terrible appear!
+
+  What fills that haughty soul with pain?
+    What thoughts such madd'ning tumults cause?
+  With Russia plots he war again?
+    Would he to Poland dictate laws?
+  Say, is the sword of vengeance glancing?
+    Does bold revolt claim nature's right?
+    Do realms oppressed alarm excite?
+  Or sabres of fierce foes advancing?
+  Ah no! no more his proud steed prancing
+    Beneath him guides the Khan to war,--
+    Such thoughts his mind has banished far.
+
+  Has treason scaled the harem's wall,
+  Whose height might treason's self appal,
+  And slavery's daughter fled his power,
+  To yield her to the daring Giaour?
+
+  No! pining in his harem sadly,
+  No wife of his would act so madly;
+    To wish or think they scarcely dare;
+  By wretches, cold and heartless, guarded,
+  Hope from each breast so long discarded;
+    Treason could never enter there.
+  Their beauties unto none revealed,
+    They bloom within the harem's towers,
+    As in a hot-house bloom the flowers
+  Which erst perfumed Arabia's field.
+  To them the days in sameness dreary,
+    And months and years pass slow away,
+  In solitude, of life grown weary,
+    Well pleased they see their charms decay.
+  Each day, alas! the past resembling,
+    Time loiters through their halls and bowers;
+  In idleness, and fear, and trembling,
+    The captives pass their joyless hours.
+  The youngest seek, indeed, reprieve
+  Their hearts in striving to deceive
+  Into oblivion of distress,
+  By vain amusements, gorgeous dress,
+    Or by the noise of living streams,
+  In soft translucency meand'ring,
+    To lose their thoughts in fancy's dreams,
+  Through shady groves together wand'ring.
+    But the vile eunuch too is there,
+  In his base duty ever zealous,
+    Escape is hopeless to the fair
+  From ear so keen and eye so jealous.
+    He ruled the harem, order reigned
+  Eternal there; the trusted treasure
+    He watched with loyalty unfeigned,
+  His only law his chieftain's pleasure,
+    Which as the Koran he maintained.
+  His soul love's gentle flame derides,
+  And like a statue he abides
+    Hatred, contempt, reproaches, jests,
+  Nor prayers relax his temper rigid,
+    Nor timid sighs from tender breasts,
+  To all alike the wretch is frigid.
+    He knows how woman's sighs can melt,
+    Freeman and bondman he had felt
+  Her art in days when he was younger;
+    Her silent tear, her suppliant look,
+    Which once his heart confiding shook,
+  Now move not,--he believes no longer!
+
+  When, to relieve the noontide heat,
+    The captives go their limbs to lave,
+  And in sequestered, cool retreat
+    Yield all their beauties to the wave,
+  No stranger eye their charms may greet,
+    But their strict guard is ever nigh,
+    Viewing with unimpassioned eye
+    These beauteous daughters of delight;
+    He constant, even in gloom of night,
+  Through the still harem cautious stealing,
+    Silent, o'er carpet-covered floors,
+    And gliding through half-opened doors,
+  From couch to couch his pathway feeling,
+    With envious and unwearied care
+    Watching the unsuspecting fair;
+  And whilst in sleep unguarded lying,
+  Their slightest movement, breathing, sighing,
+    He catches with devouring ear.
+  O! curst that moment inauspicious
+    Should some loved name in dreams be sighed,
+  Or youth her unpermitted wishes
+    To friendship venture to confide.
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+  What pang is Giray's bosom tearing?
+    Extinguished is his loved _chubouk_,[1]
+  Whilst or to move or breathe scarce daring,
+    The eunuch watches every look;
+  Quick as the chief, approaching near him,
+    Beckons, the door is open thrown,
+  And Giray wanders through his harem
+    Where joy to him no more is known.
+  Near to a fountain's lucid waters
+  Captivity's unhappy daughters
+    The Khan await, in fair array,
+  Around on silken carpets crowded,
+  Viewing, beneath a heaven unclouded,
+  With childish joy the fishes play
+  And o'er the marble cleave their way,
+  Whose golden scales are brightly glancing,
+  And on the mimic billows dancing.
+    Now female slaves in rich attire
+  Serve sherbet to the beauteous fair,
+    Whilst plaintive strains from viewless choir
+  Float sudden on the ambient air.
+
+  TARTAR SONG.
+
+    I.
+
+    Heaven visits man with days of sadness,
+      Embitters oft his nights with tears;
+    Blest is the Fakir who with gladness
+      Views Mecca in declining years.
+
+    II.
+
+    Blest he who sees pale Death await him
+      On Danube's ever glorious shore;
+    The girls of Paradise shall greet him,
+      And sorrows ne'er afflict him more.
+
+    III.
+
+    But he more blest, O beauteous Zarem!
+      Who quits the world and all its woes,
+    To clasp thy charms within the harem,
+      Thou lovelier than the unplucked rose!
+
+
+  They sing, but-where, alas! is Zarem,
+  Love's star, the glory of the harem?
+  Pallid and sad no praise she hears,
+  Deaf to all sounds of joy her ears,
+  Downcast with grief, her youthful form
+  Yields like the palm tree to the storm,
+  Fair Zarem's dreams of bliss are o'er,
+  Her loved Giray loves her no more!
+
+  He leaves thee! yet whose charms divine
+  Can equal, fair Grusinian! thine?
+  Shading thy brow, thy raven hair
+  Its lily fairness makes more fair;
+  Thine eyes of love appear more bright
+  Than noonday's beam, more dark than night;
+  Whose voice like thine can breathe of blisses,
+    Filling the heart with soft desire?
+  Like thine, ah! whose inflaming kisses
+    Can kindle passion's wildest fire?
+
+  Who that has felt thy twining arms
+  Could quit them for another's charms?
+    Yet cold, and passionless, and cruel,
+  Giray can thy vast love despise,
+  Passing the lonesome night in sighs
+    Heaved for another; fiercer fuel
+  Burns in his heart since the fair Pole
+  Is placed within the chief's control.
+
+  The young Maria recent war
+  Had borne in conquest from afar;
+  Not long her love-enkindling eyes
+  Had gazed upon these foreign skies;
+  Her aged father's boast and pride,
+  She bloomed in beauty by his side;
+    Each wish was granted ere expressed.
+  She to his heart the object dearest,
+    His sole desire to see her blessed;
+  As when the skies from clouds are clearest,
+    Still from her youthful heart to chase
+  Her childish sorrows his endeavour,
+  Hoping in after life that never
+    Her woman's duties might efface
+  Remembrance of her earlier hours,
+    But oft that fancy would retrace
+  Life's blissful spring-time decked in flowers.
+    Her form a thousand charms unfolded,
+    Her face by beauty's self was moulded,
+  Her dark blue eyes were full of fire,--
+    All nature's stores on her were lavished;
+  The magic harp with soft desire,
+    When touched by her, the senses ravished.
+  Warriors and knights had sought in vain
+    Maria's virgin heart to move,
+  And many a youth in secret pain
+    Pined for her in despairing love.
+  But love she knew not, in her breast
+    Tranquil it had not yet intruded,
+  Her days in mirth, her nights in rest,
+    In her paternal halls secluded,
+  Passed heedless, peace her bosom's guest.
+
+  That time is past! The Tartar's force
+    Rushed like a torrent o'er her nation,--
+    Rages less fierce the conflagration
+  Devouring harvests in its course,--
+    Poland it swept with devastation,
+  Involving all in equal fate,
+    The villages, once mirthful, vanished,
+    From their red ruins joy was banished,
+  The gorgeous palace desolate!
+    Maria is the victor's prize;--
+  Within the palace chapel laid,
+  Slumb'ring among th'illustrious dead,
+    In recent tomb her father lies;
+  His ancestors repose around,
+    Long freed from life and its alarms;
+    With coronets and princely arms
+  Bedecked their monuments abound!
+    A base successor now holds sway,--
+  Maria's natal halls his hand
+    Tyrannic rules, and strikes dismay
+  And wo throughout the ravaged land.
+
+  Alas! the Princess sorrow's chalice
+    Is fated to the dregs to drain,
+  Immured in Bakchesaria's palace
+    She sighs for liberty in vain;
+    The Khan observes the maiden's pain,
+  His heart is at her grief afflicted,
+    His bosom strange emotions fill,
+    And least of all Maria's will
+  Is by the harem's laws restricted.
+    The hateful guard, of all the dread,
+  Learns silent to respect and fear her,
+    His eye ne'er violates her bed,
+  Nor day nor night he ventures near her;
+    To her he dares not speak rebuke,
+    Nor on her cast suspecting look.
+  Her bath she sought by none attended,
+    Except her chosen female slave,
+    The Khan to her such freedom gave;
+  But rarely he himself offended
+    By visits, the desponding fair,
+  Remotely lodged, none else intruded;
+    It seemed as though some jewel rare,
+  Something unearthly were secluded,
+    And careful kept untroubled there.
+
+  Within her chamber thus secure,
+  By virtue guarded, chaste and pure,
+    The lamp of faith, incessant burning,
+  The VIRGIN'S image blest illumed,
+    The comfort of the spirit mourning
+  And trust of those to sorrow doomed.
+    The holy symbol's face reflected
+  The rays of hope in splendour bright,
+    And the rapt soul by faith directed
+  To regions of eternal light.
+    Maria, near the VIRGIN kneeling,
+  In silence gave her anguish way,
+    Unnoticed by the crowd unfeeling,
+  And whilst the rest, or sad or gay,
+  Wasted in idleness the day,
+    The sacred image still concealing,
+  Before it pouring forth her prayer,
+  She watched with ever jealous care;
+  Even as our hearts to error given,
+  Yet lighted by a spark from heaven,
+  Howe'er from virtue's paths we swerve,
+  One holy feeling still preserve.
+
+         *        *        *        *        *
+
+  Now night invests with black apparel
+    Luxurious Tauride's verdant fields,
+  Whilst her sweet notes from groves of laurel
+    The plaintive Philomela yields.
+  But soon night's glorious queen, advancing
+    Through cloudless skies to the stars' song,
+    Scatters the hills and dales along,
+  The lustre of her rays entrancing.
+    In Bakchesaria's streets roamed free
+  The Tartars' wives in garb befitting,
+  They like unprisoned shades were flitting
+    From house to house their friends to see,
+  And while the evening hours away
+  In harmless sports or converse gay.
+    The inmates of the harem slept;--
+    Still was the palace, night impending
+    O'er all her silent empire kept;
+  The eunuch guard, no more offending
+    The fair ones by his presence, now
+  Slumbered, but fear his soul attending
+    Troubled his rest and knit his brow;
+  Suspicion kept his fancy waking,
+    And on his mind incessant preyed,
+  The air the slightest murmur breaking
+    Assailed his ear with sounds of dread.
+  Now, by some noise deceitful cheated,
+    Starts from his sleep the timid slave,
+  Listens to hear the noise repeated,
+    But all is silent as the grave,
+  Save where the fountains softly sounding
+    Break from their marble prisons free,
+  Or night's sweet birds the scene surrounding
+    Pour forth their notes of melody:
+  Long does he hearken to the strain,
+  Then sinks fatigued in sleep again.
+
+  Luxurious East! how soft thy nights,
+    What magic through the soul they pour!
+  How fruitful they of fond delights
+    To those who Mahomet adore!
+  What splendour in each house is found,
+    Each garden seems enchanted ground;
+    Within the harem's precincts quiet
+  Beneath fair Luna's placid ray,
+    When angry feelings cease to riot
+  There love inspires with softer sway!
+
+         *        *        *        *
+
+  The women sleep;--but one is there
+  Who sleeps not; goaded by despair
+  Her couch she quits with dread intent,
+  On awful errand is she bent;
+    Breathless she through the door swift flying
+  Passes unseen; her timid feet
+  Scarce touch the floor, she glides so fleet.
+    In doubtful slumber restless lying
+  The eunuch thwarts the fair one's path,
+  Ah! who can speak his bosom's wrath?
+  False is the quiet sleep would throw
+  Around that gray and care-worn brow;
+  She like a spirit vanished by
+  Viewless, unheard as her own sigh!
+
+         *        *        *        *
+
+  The door she reaches, trembling opes,
+    Enters, and looks around with awe,
+  What sorrows, anguish, terrors, hopes,
+    Rushed through her heart at what she saw!
+  The image of the sacred maid,
+    The Christian's matron, reigning there,
+    And cross attracted first the fair,
+  By the dim lamp-light scarce displayed!
+    Oh! Grusinka, of earlier days
+  The vision burst upon thy soul,
+    The tongue long silent uttered praise,
+  The heart throbs high, but sin's control
+    Cannot escape, 'tis passion, passion sways!
+
+  The Princess in a maid's repose
+  Slumbered, her cheek, tinged like the rose,
+    By feverish thought, in beauty blooms,
+  And the fresh tear that stains her face
+    A smile of tenderness illumes.
+  Thus cheers the moon fair Flora's race,
+    When by the rain opprest they lie
+    The charm and grief of every eye!
+  It seemed as though an angel slept
+    From heaven descended, who, distressed,
+    Vented the feelings of his breast,
+  And for the harem's inmates wept!
+    Alas! poor Zarem, wretched fair,
+    By anguish urged to mere despair,
+    On bended knee, in tone subdued
+    And melting strain, for pity sued.
+
+    "Oh! spurn not such a suppliant's prayer!"
+    Her tones so sad, her sighs so deep,
+    Startled the Princess in her sleep;
+  Wond'ring, she views with dread before her
+    The stranger beauty, frighted hears
+  For mercy her soft voice implore her,
+    Raises her up with trembling hand,
+    And makes of her the quick demand,
+    "Who speaks? in night's still hour alone,
+    Wherefore art here?"  "A wretched one,
+    To thee I come," the fair replied,
+    "A suitor not to be denied;
+  Hope, hope alone my soul sustains;
+    Long have I happiness enjoyed,
+    And lived from sorrow free and care,
+  But now, alas! a prey to pains
+    And terrors, Princess hear my prayer,
+    Oh! listen, or I am destroyed!
+
+  Not here beheld I first the light,
+    Far hence my native land, but yet
+    Alas! I never can forget
+  Objects once precious to my sight;
+    Well I remember towering mountains,
+    Snow-ridged, replete with boiling fountains,
+    Woods pervious scarce to wolf or deer,
+    Nor faith, nor manners such as here;
+    But, by what cruel fate o'ercome,
+    How I was snatched, or when, from home
+  I know not,--well the heaving ocean
+    Do I remember, and its roar,
+  But, ah! my heart such wild commotion
+    As shakes it now ne'er felt before.
+  I in the harem's quiet bloomed,
+    Tranquil myself, waiting, alas!
+  With willing heart what love had doomed;
+    Its secret wishes came to pass:
+  Giray his peaceful harem sought,
+    For feats of war no longer burned,
+  Nor, pleased, upon its horrors thought,
+    To these fair scenes again returned.
+
+  "Before the Khan with bosoms beating
+    We stood, timid my eyes I raised,
+  When suddenly our glances meeting,
+    I drank in rapture as I gazed;
+  He called me to him,--from that hour
+  We lived in bliss beyond the power
+  Of evil thought or wicked word,
+  The tongue of calumny unheard,
+    Suspicion, doubt, or jealous fear,
+  Of weariness alike unknown,
+    Princess, thou comest a captive here,
+  And all my joys are overthrown,
+    Giray with sinful passion burns,
+  His soul possessed of thee alone,
+    My tears and sighs the traitor spurns;
+  No more his former thoughts, nor feeling
+    For me now cherishes Giray,
+  Scarce his disgust, alas! concealing,
+    He from my presence hastes away.
+  Princess, I know the fault not thine
+    That Giray loves thee, oh! then hear
+    A suppliant wretch, nor spurn her prayer!
+
+    Throughout the harem none but thou
+  Could rival beauties such as mine
+    Nor make him violate his vow;
+  Yet, Princess! in thy bosom cold
+    The heart to mine left thus forlorn,
+  The love I feel cannot be told,
+    For passion, Princess, was I born.
+  Yield me Giray then; with these tresses
+    Oft have his wandering fingers played,
+  My lips still glow with his caresses,
+    Snatched as he sighed, and swore, and prayed,
+  Oaths broken now so often plighted!
+  Hearts mingled once now disunited!
+    His treason I cannot survive;
+  Thou seest I weep, I bend my knee,
+    Ah! if to pity thou'rt alive,
+  My former love restore to me.
+    Reply not! thee I do not blame,
+  Thy beauties have bewitched Giray,
+    Blinded his heart to love and fame,
+  Then yield him up to me, I pray,
+    Or by contempt, repulse, or grief,
+    Turn from thy love th'ungenerous chief!
+  Swear by thy _faith_, for what though mine
+    Conform now to the Koran's laws,
+  Acknowledged here within the harem,
+  Princess, my mother's faith was thine,
+  By that faith swear to give to Zarem
+    Giray unaltered, as he was!
+  But listen! the sad prey to scorn
+    If I must live, Princess, have care,
+    A dagger still doth Zarem wear,--
+  I near the Caucasus was born!"
+
+  She spake, then sudden disappeared,
+    And left the Princess in dismay,
+  Who scarce knew what or why she feared;
+    Such words of passion till that day
+  She ne'er had heard. Alas! was she
+    To be the ruthless chieftain's prey?
+  Vain was all hope his grasp to flee.
+    Oh! God, that in some dungeon's gloom
+  Remote, forgotten, she had lain,
+    Or that it were her blessed doom
+  To 'scape dishonour, life, and pain!
+    How would Maria with delight
+  This world of wretchedness resign;
+    Vanished of youth her visions bright,
+  Abandoned she to fates malign!
+    Sinless she to the world was given,
+  And so remains, thus pure and fair,
+    Her soul is called again to heaven,
+  And angel joys await it there!
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+  Days passed away; Maria slept
+    Peaceful, no cares disturbed her, now,--
+  From earth the orphan maid was swept.
+    But who knew when, or where, or how?
+  If prey to grief or pain she fell,
+  If slain or heaven-struck, who can tell?
+  She sleeps; her loss the chieftain grieves,
+  And his neglected harem leaves,
+    Flies from its tranquil precincts far,
+  And with his Tartars takes the field,
+    Fierce rushes mid the din of war,
+  And brave the foe that does not yield,
+    For mad despair hath nerved his arm,
+  Though in his heart is grief concealed,
+    With passion's hopeless transports warm.
+  His blade he swings aloft in air
+    And wildly brandishes, then low
+  It falls, whilst he with pallid stare
+    Gazes, and tears in torrents flow.
+
+  His harem by the chief deserted,
+    In foreign lands he warring roved,
+  Long nor in wish nor thought reverted
+    To scene once cherished and beloved.
+  His women to the eunuch's rage
+  Abandoned, pined and sank in age;
+  The fair Grusinian now no more
+  Yielded her soul to passion's power,
+  Her fate was with Maria's blended,
+  On the same night their sorrows ended;
+    Seized by mute guards the hapless fair
+  Into a deep abyss they threw,--
+    If vast her crime, through love's despair,
+  Her punishment was dreadful too!
+
+  At length th'exhausted Khan returned,
+    Enough of waste his sword had dealt,
+  The Russian cot no longer burned,
+    Nor Caucasus his fury felt.
+  In token of Maria's loss
+    A marble fountain he upreared
+  In spot recluse;--the Christian's cross
+    Upon the monument appeared,
+  (Surmounting it a crescent bright,
+    Emblem of ignorance and night!)
+  Th'inscription mid the silent waste
+  Not yet has time's rude hand effaced,
+    Still do the gurgling waters pour
+  Their streams dispensing sadness round,
+    As mothers weep for sons no more,
+  In never-ending sorrows drowned.
+    In morn fair maids, (and twilight late,)
+  Roam where this monument appears,
+    And pitying poor Maria's fate
+    Entitle it the FOUNT OF TEARS!
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+  My native land abandoned long,
+  I sought this realm of love and song.
+  Through Bakchesaria's palace wandered,
+  Upon its vanished greatness pondered;
+    All silent now those spacious halls,
+  And courts deserted, once so gay
+    With feasters thronged within their walls,
+  Carousing after battle fray.
+    Even now each desolated room
+  And ruined garden luxury breathes,
+    The fountains play, the roses bloom,
+  The vine unnoticed twines its wreaths,
+    Gold glistens, shrubs exhale perfume.
+  The shattered casements still are there
+    Within which once, in days gone by,
+  Their beads of amber chose the fair,
+    And heaved the unregarded sigh;
+  The cemetery there I found,
+    Of conquering khans the last abode,
+  Columns with marble turbans crowned
+    Their resting-place the traveller showed,
+  And seemed to speak fate's stern decree,
+  "As they are now such all shall be!"
+  Where now those chiefs? the harem where?
+  Alas! how sad scene once so fair!
+  Now breathless silence chains the air!
+    But not of this my mind was full,
+  The roses' breath, the fountains flowing,
+  The sun's last beam its radiance throwing
+   Around, all served my heart to lull
+  Into forgetfulness, when lo!
+  A maiden's shade, fairer than snow,
+    Across the court swift winged its flight;--
+    Whose shade, oh friends! then struck my sight?
+    Whose beauteous image hovering near
+    Filled me with wonder and with fear?
+  Maria's form beheld I then?
+    Or was it the unhappy Zarem,
+  Who jealous thither came again
+    To roam through the deserted harem?
+  That tender look I cannot flee,
+  Those charms still earthly still I see!
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+  He who the muse and peace adores,
+    Forgetting glory, love, and gold,
+  Again thy ever flowery shores
+    Soon, Salgir! joyful shall behold;
+  The bard shall wind thy rocky ways
+    Filled with fond sympathies, shall view
+    Tauride's bright skies and waves of blue
+  With greedy and enraptured gaze.
+    Enchanting region! full of life
+  Thy hills, thy woods, thy leaping streams,
+    Ambered and rubied vines, all rife
+  With pleasure, spot of fairy dreams!
+    Valleys of verdure, fruits, and flowers,
+    Cool waterfalls and fragrant bowers!
+  All serve the traveller's heart to fill
+    With joy as he in hour of morn
+    By his accustomed steed is borne
+  In safety o'er dell, rock, and hill,
+    Whilst the rich herbage, bent with dews,
+  Sparkles and rustles on the ground,
+    As he his venturous path pursues
+  Where AYOUDAHGA'S crags surround!
+
+[1] A Turkish pipe.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  AMATORY AND OTHER POEMS,
+
+  BY
+
+  VARIOUS RUSSIAN AUTHORS.
+
+
+[Several of the following translations were published anonymously, many
+years since, in the "National Gazette," when edited by Robert Walsh, Esq.,
+and in the "Atlantic Souvenir," and other periodicals.]
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  AMATORY AND OTHER POEMS.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  SONG.
+
+
+  I through gay and brilliant places
+    Long my wayward course had bound,
+  Oft had gazed on beauteous faces,
+    But no loved one yet had found.
+
+  Careless, onward did I saunter,
+    Seeking no beloved to see,
+  Rather dreading such encounter,
+    Wishing ever to be free.
+
+  Thus from all temptation fleeing,
+    Hoped I long unchecked to rove,
+  'Till the fair Louisa seeing,--
+    Who can see her, and not love?
+
+  Sol, his splendid robes arrayed in,
+    Just behind the hills was gone,
+  When one eve I saw the maiden
+    Tripping o'er the verdant lawn.
+
+  Of a strange, tumultuous feeling,
+    As I gazed I felt the sway,
+  And, with brain on fire and reeling,
+    Homeward quick I bent my way.
+
+  Through my bosom rapid darting,
+    Love 'twas plain I could not brave,
+  And with boasted freedom parting,
+    I became Louisa's slave.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  THE HUSBAND'S LAMENT.
+
+  BY P. PELSKY.
+
+
+  Parted now, alas! for ever
+    From the object of my heart,
+  Thus by cruel fate afflicted,
+    Grief shall be my only part,
+
+  I, bereft of her blest presence,
+    Shall my life in anguish spend,
+  Joy a stranger to my bosom,
+    Wo with every thought shall blend.
+
+  Double was my meed of pleasure
+    When in it a share she bore,
+  Of my pains, though keen and piercing,
+    Viewing her I thought no more.
+
+  All is past! and I, unhappy,
+    Here on earth am left alone,
+  All my transports now are vanished,
+    Blissful hours! how swiftly flown.
+
+  Vainly friends, with kind compassion,
+    Me to calm my grief conjure,
+  Vainly strive my heart to comfort,
+    It the grave alone can cure.
+
+  Fate one hope allows me only,
+    Which allays my bosom's pain--
+  Death our loving hearts divided,
+    Death our hearts can join again!
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  COUNSEL.
+
+  BY DMEETRIEFF.
+
+
+  Youth, those moments so entrancing,
+    Spend in sports and pleasures gay,
+  Mirth and singing, love and dancing,
+    Like a shade thou'lt pass away!
+
+  Nature points the way before us,
+    Friends to her sweet voice give ear,
+  Form the dances, raise the chorus,
+    We but for an hour are here.
+
+  Think the term of mirth and pleasure
+    Comes no more when once gone by,
+  Let us prize life's only treasure,
+    Blest with love and jollity.
+
+  And the bard all sorrows scorning,
+    Who, though old, still joins your ring,
+  With gay wreaths of flowers adorning
+    Crown him that he still may sing.
+
+  Youth, those moments so entrancing,
+    Spend in sports and pleasures gay,
+  Mirth and singing, love and dancing,
+    Like a shade thou'lt pass away!
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  STANZAS.
+
+  BY NELAIDINSKY.
+
+
+  He whose soul from sorrow dreary,
+    Weak and wretched, nought can save,
+  Who in sadness, sick and weary,
+    Hopes no refuge but the grave;
+  On his visage Pleasure beaming,
+    Ne'er shall shed her placid ray,
+  Till kind Fate, from wo redeeming,
+    Leads him to his latest day.
+
+  Thou this life preservest ever,
+    My distress and my delight!
+  And, though soul and body sever,
+    Still I'll live a spirit bright;
+  In my breast the heart that's kindled
+    Death's dread strength can ne'er destroy,
+  Sure the soul with thine that's mingled
+    Must immortal life enjoy!
+
+  That inspired by breath from heaven
+    Need not shrink at mortal doom,
+  To thee shall my vows be given
+    In this world and that to come.
+  My fond shade shall constant trace thee,
+    And attend in friendly guise,
+  Still surround thee, still embrace thee,
+    Catch thy thoughts, thy looks, thy sighs.
+
+  To divine its secret pondering,
+    Close to clasp thy soul 'twill brave,
+  And if chance shall find thee wandering
+    Heedless near my silent grave,
+  Even my ashes then shall tremble,
+    Thy approach relume their fire,
+  And that stone in dust shall crumble,
+    Covering what can ne'er expire!
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  ODE TO THE WARRIORS OF THE DON.
+
+  WRITTEN IN 1812, BY N.M. SHATROFF.
+
+
+  Sudden o'er Moscow rolls the dread thunder,
+  Fierce o'er his proud borders Don's torrents flow,
+  High swells each bosom, glowing with vengeance
+                               'Gainst the base foe.
+
+  Scarce in loud accents spoke our good Monarch,
+  "Soldiers of Russia! Moscow burns bright,
+  Foemen destroy her,"--hundreds of thousands
+                               Rush to the fight.
+
+  "Who dare oppose God? who oppose Russians?"
+  Cried the brave Hetman,--steeds round him tramp,--
+  "The Frenchman's ashes quickly we'll scatter,
+                               Show us his camp!
+
+  "TSAR true-believing we are all ready,
+  Thy throne's defenders, each proud heart bent
+  By the assault th' invader's black projects
+                               To circumvent.
+
+  "Russians well know the rough road to glory,
+  Rhine's banks by our troops soon shall be trod,
+  We fight for vengeance, for love of country,
+                               And faith in God!
+
+  "BELIEVE and conquer, fear not for Russia,
+  Awful the blow the cross-bearer strikes,
+  Th'arkan[1] is dreadful, the sword unsparing,
+                               Sharp are our pikes.
+
+  "Vain are Napoleon's skill, strength, and cunning,
+  Nor do his hosts fill us with despair,
+  For Michael[2] leads us, and Mary's[3] image
+                               With us we bear.
+
+  "To horse, brothers, haste, the foe approaches,
+  Holy faith guides us, in God we trust,
+  Quick, true believers, rush to the onset,
+                               God aids the just!
+
+  "Sternly rush on, friends, crush the vile Frenchman,
+  Firm be as mountains when tempests blow,
+  Oh! into Russia grant not the foul one
+                               Further to go."
+
+  Don, broad and mighty, poured forth her children,
+  The world was amazed, pale with affright,
+  Napoleon abandoned his fame, and sought
+                               Safety in flight.
+
+  On all sides alike pikes gleam around us,
+  Through air hiss arrows, cannons bright flash,
+  Bullets, like bees, in swarms fly terrific,
+                               Mingling swords clash.
+
+  Not half a million of fierce invaders
+  Can meet the rage of Russia's attacks;
+  Not more than they the timid deer shrinks at
+                               Sight of Cossacks.
+
+  O'er blood-drenched plains their red standards scattered,
+  Their arms abandoned, spoils left behind:
+  Death they now flee from, to loss of honour
+                               Basely resigned.
+
+  Vainly they shun it, fruitless their cunning,
+  Jove's bird strikes down the blood-thirsty crow,
+  The fame and bones of Frenchmen in Russia
+                               Alike lie low.
+
+  Thus th' ambitious usurper is vanquished,
+  Thus his legions destroyed as they flee,
+  Thus white-stoned Moscow, the first throned city,
+                               Once more set free.
+
+  To God, all potent, let thanks be rendered,
+  Honoured our TSAR'S and each chieftain's name,
+  To th'Empire safety, to Don's brave offspring
+                               Laurels and fame!
+
+[1] Lasso.
+
+[2] Kutuzoff.
+
+[3] The Virgin.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  SOLITUDE.
+
+  BY MERZLIAKOFF.
+
+
+  Upon a hill, which rears itself midst plains extending wide,
+  Fair flourishes a lofty OAK in beauty's blooming pride;
+  This lofty oak in solitude its branches wide expands,
+  All lonesome on the cheerless height like sentinel it stands.
+  Whom can it lend its friendly shade, should Sol with fervour glow?
+  And who can shelter _it_ from harm, should tempests rudely blow?
+  No bushes green, entwining close, here deck the neighbouring ground,
+  No tufted pines beside it grow, no osiers thrive around.
+  Sad even to trees their cheerless fate in solitude if grown,
+  And bitter, bitter is the lot for youth to live alone!
+  Though gold and silver much is his, how vain the selfish pride!
+  Though crowned with glory's laurelled wreath, with whom that crown divide?
+  When I with an acquaintance meet he scarce a bow affords,
+  And beauties, half saluting me, but grant some transient words.
+  On some I look myself with dread, whilst others from me fly,
+  But sadder still the uncherished soul when Fate's dark hour draws nigh;
+  Oh! where my aching heart relieve when griefs assail me sore?
+  My friend, who sleeps in the cold earth, comes to my aid no more!
+  No relatives, alas! of mine in this strange clime appear,
+  No wife imparts love's fond caress, sweet smile, or pitying tear;
+  No father feels joy's thrilling throb, as he our transport sees;
+  No gay and sportive little ones come clambering on my knees;--
+  Take back all honours, wealth, and fame, the heart they cannot move,
+  And give instead the smiles of friends, the tender look of love!
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  TO MY ROSE.
+
+
+  Bright queen of flowers, O! Rose, gay blooming,
+    How lovely are thy charms to me!
+  Narcissus proud, pink unassuming,
+    In beauty vainly vie with thee;
+  When thou midst Flora's circle shinest,
+    Each seems thy slave confessed to sigh,
+  And thou, O! loveliest flower, divinest,
+    Allur'st alone the passer's eye.
+
+  To change thy fate the thought has struck me,
+    Sweet Rose, in beauty, ah! how blest,
+  For fair Eliza I will pluck thee,
+    And thou shalt deck her virgin breast:--
+  Yet, there thy beauties vainly shining,
+    No more predominance will claim,
+  To lilies, all thy pride resigning,
+    Thou'lt yield without dispute thy fame.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  TO CUPID.
+
+
+  Cupid, one arrow kindly spare,
+    'Twill yield me transport beyond measure,
+  I'll not be mean, by heaven I swear,
+    With Mary I'll divide the treasure.
+
+  Thou wilt not?--Tyrant, now I see
+    Thou lovest with grief my soul to harrow;
+  To her thou'st given thy quiver--for me
+    Thou hast not left a single arrow!
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  EVENING MEDITATIONS.
+
+
+  Nature in silence sank, and deep repose,
+    Behind the mountain, Sol had ceased to glare,
+  Timid the moon with modest lustre rose,
+    Willing as though my misery to share.
+  The past was quick presented to my mind,
+    A gentle languor calmed each throbbing vein,
+  My poor heart trembled as the leaves from wind,
+    My melting soul owned melancholy's reign.
+  Plain did each action of my life appear,
+    Each feeling bade some fellow feeling start,
+  On my parched bosom fell the flowing tear,
+    And cooled the burning anguish of my heart.
+  Moments of bliss, I cried, ah! whither flown?
+    When Friendship breathed to me her soothing sighs,
+  Twice have the fields with golden harvests shone,
+    And still her blest return stern Fate denies!
+  Cynthia, thou seest me lone my course pursue,
+    Hopeless here roving, grief my only guide,
+  Evenings long past thou call'st to Fancy's view,
+    Forcing the tear down my pale cheek to glide.
+  Friendless, of love bereft, what now my joy?
+    Void are my heart and soul, a prey to pain,
+  To love, to be beloved, can never cloy,
+    But all on earth besides, alas! is vain!
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  THE LITTLE DOVE.
+
+  BY DMETRIEFF.
+
+
+  The little dove, with heart of sadness,
+    In silent pain sighs night and day,
+  What now can wake that heart to gladness?
+    His mate beloved is far away.
+
+  He coos no more with soft caresses,
+    No more is millet sought by him,
+  The dove his lonesome state distresses,
+    And tears his swimming eyeballs dim.
+
+  From twig to twig now skips the lover,
+    Filling the grove with accents kind,
+  On all sides roams the harmless rover,
+    Hoping his little friend to find.
+
+  Ah! vain that hope his grief is tasting,
+    Fate seems to scorn his faithful love,
+  And imperceptibly is wasting,
+    Wasting away, the little dove!
+
+  At length upon the grass he threw him,
+    Hid in his wing his beak and wept,
+  There ceased his sorrows to pursue him,
+    The little dove for ever slept.
+
+  His mate, now sad abroad and grieving,
+    Flies from a distance home again,
+  Sits by her friend, with bosom heaving,
+    And bids him wake with sorrowing pain.
+
+  She sighs, she weeps, her spirits languish,
+    Around and round the spot she goes,
+  Ah! charming Chloe's lost in anguish,
+    Her friend wakes not from his repose!
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  LAURA'S PRAYER.
+
+
+  As the harp's soft sighings in the silent valley,
+  To high heaven reaching, lifts thy pious prayer,
+  Laura, be tranquil! again with health shall nourish
+                               Thy loved companion.
+
+  O! ye gods, behold fair Laura sunk in anguish,
+  Kneeling, O! behold her on the grassy hill,
+  Mild evening's sportive zephyrs gently embracing
+                               Her golden ringlets.
+
+  Glist'ning with tears, her sad eyes to you she raises,
+  Her fair bosom heaving like the swelling wave,
+  Whilst in the solemn grove echo, clothed in darkness,
+                               Repeats her accents.
+
+  "O! gods, my friend beloved give again health's blessings,
+  Faded are her cheeks now, dull her once bright eye,
+  In her heart no pleasure,--killed by cruel sickness,
+                               As by heat flowers.
+
+  "But if your hard laws should bid her quit existence,
+  Grant then my sad prayer, with her let me too die,"--
+  Laura, be tranquil! thy friend thou'lt see reviving
+                               Like spring's sweet roses.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  THE STORM.
+
+  BY DERJAVIN.
+
+
+  As my bark in restless ocean
+    Mounts its rough and foaming hills,
+  Whilst its waves in dark commotion
+    Pass me, hope my bosom fills.
+
+  Who, when warring clouds are gleaming,
+    Quenches the destructive spark?
+  Say what hand, where safety's beaming,
+    Guides through rocks my little bark?
+
+  Thou Creator! all o'erseeing,
+    In this scene preserv'st me dread,
+  Thou, without whose word decreeing
+    Not a hair falls from my head.
+
+  Thou in life hast doubly blest me,
+    All my soul to thee's revealed,
+  Thou amongst the great hast placed me,
+    Be midst them my guide and shield!
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  TO MY HEART.
+
+
+  Why, poor heart, so ceaseless languish?
+    Why with such distresses smart?
+  Nought alleviates thy anguish,
+    What afflicts thee so, poor heart?
+
+  Heart, I comprehend not wrongly,
+    Thou a captive art confest,
+  Near Eliza thou beat'st strongly
+    As thou'dst leap into her breast.
+
+  Since 'tis so then, little throbber,
+    You and I, alas! must part,
+  I'd not be thy comfort's robber;
+    To her I'll resign thee, heart.
+
+  Yet the maid in compensation
+    Must her own bestow on me,
+  And with such remuneration
+    Never shall I grieve for thee.
+
+  But should she, thy sorrows spurning,
+    This exchange, poor heart, deny,
+  Then I'll bear thee, heart, though mourning,
+    From her far and hasty fly.
+
+  But, alas! no pain assuaging,
+    That would but increase thy grief;
+  If kind Death still not its raging,
+    Granting thee a kind relief.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  TIME.
+
+
+  O! Time, as thou on rapid wings
+    Encirclest earth's extensive ball,
+  Fatal thy flight to worldly things,
+    Thy darts cut down and ruin all.
+
+  A cloud from us thy form conceals;
+    Enwrapt its gloomy folds among,
+  Thou mov'st eternity's vast wheels,
+    And with them movest us along.
+
+  The swift-winged days thou urgest on,
+    With them life's sand beholdest pass,
+  And when our transient hours are gone,
+    Thou smilest at their exhausted glass.
+
+  Against Time's look, when he but frowns,
+    All strength, and skill, and power, are vain;
+  He withers laurels, wreaths, and crowns,
+    And breaks the matrimonial chain.
+
+  As Time moves onward, far and wide
+    His restless scythe mows all away,
+  All feels his breath, on every side
+    All sinks, resistless, to decay.
+
+  To youth's gay bloom and beauty's charms
+    Mercy alike stern Time denies,
+  Like vernal flowers o'erwhelmed by storms,
+    Whate'er he looks at droops and dies.
+
+  Huge piles from earth his mighty hand
+    Sweeps to oblivion's empire dread,
+  What villages, what cities grand,
+    What kingdoms sink beneath his tread!
+
+  Heroes in vain, his gauntlet cast,
+    Oppose his stern and ruthless sway,
+  Nor armies brave, nor mountains vast,
+    Can thwart the devastator's way.
+
+  Thought strives, but fruitless, to pursue
+    The traces of Time's rapid flight,
+  Scarce Fancy gains one transient view,
+    He disappears and sinks in night.
+
+  Think, thou whom folly's dazzling glare
+    Of worldly vanities may blind,
+  Time frowns and all will disappear,
+    Nor gold a vestige leave behind.
+
+  And thou whom fierce distresses sting,
+    Thou by calamities low bowed,
+  Weep not, for Time the day will bring
+    That ranks the humble with the proud.
+
+  But, Time, thy course of ruin stay,
+    The lyre's sweet tones one moment hear,
+  By thee o'er earth is spread dismay,
+    Grief's sigh called forth, and pity's tear.
+
+  Yet, Time, thy speed the dread decree
+    Of retribution on thee brings,
+  Eternity will swallow thee,
+    Thy motion stop, and clip thy wings!
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  SONG.
+
+
+  Sweetly came the morning light,
+  When fair Mary blest my sight,
+  In her presence pleasures throng,
+  Louder swelled the birds their song,
+               Pleasanter the day became.
+
+  Not so radiant are Sol's rays,
+  When on darkest clouds they blaze,
+  As her look, so free from guile,
+  As fair Mary's tender smile,
+              As the smile of my beloved.
+
+  Not of dew the gems divine
+  Shine as Mary's beauties shine,
+  Not with hers the rose's dye
+  On the fairest cheek can vie,
+           None have beauty like to hers.
+
+  Mary's kiss as honey sweet,
+  Pure as streamlet clear and fleet,
+  Love inhabits her soft eyes,
+  Floats in all her soothing sighs,
+         Nought on earth so sweet as she.
+
+  Let us, Mary, now enjoy
+  Nature's charms without alloy,
+  Verdant lawn, and smiling grove;--
+  Brooks that babble but of love
+              Will beside us softer flow.
+
+  Let us seek the pleasant shade,
+  Sit in bowers by us arrayed
+  With gay flow'rets, where are heard
+  Songs of many a pleasant bird,
+         Which with rapture we will join.
+
+  In that sweet and lovely spot,
+  All the cares of earth forgot,
+  Thou, the comfort of my sight,
+  Thou, my glory, my delight,
+           Shalt my soul to peace allure.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  SONG.
+
+
+  The shades of spring's delicious even
+    Invited all to soft repose,
+  I only sighed to listening heaven
+    In the still grove my bosom's woes.
+
+  My heart's distress had Fate completed,
+    Snatched from my sight my best beloved,
+  And echo's busy voice repeated
+    Sweet Mary's name where'er I roved.
+
+  Without her sad the days and dreary,
+    How cheerless drag life's moments on,
+  Of pleasure's tumults sick and weary,
+    All blissful thoughts for ever flown!
+
+  But still to me more keen the anguish,
+    With secret grief my heart must swell,
+  That her for whom I ceaseless languish
+    I dare not of my passion tell.
+
+  No hope my cruel pain disarming,
+    I live a prey to ceaseless wo,
+  And Mary, sweet, and fair, and charming,
+    How much I love her does not know.
+
+  How shall I calm this bosom's raging?
+    O! how alleviate its smart?
+  Her tender look, all grief assuaging,
+    Alone can cure my wounded heart.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  SONG.
+
+
+  How blest am I thy charms enfolding,
+    Cheerful thy smile as May's fair light,
+    As Paradise thine eyes are bright,
+  I all forget when thee beholding,--
+    Thou canst not think how sweet thou art.
+  Thy absence fills my soul with anguish,
+    Beloved one! hopeless of relief
+    I count the mournful hours in grief,
+  My heart for thee doth ceaseless languish,--
+    Thou canst not think how sweet thou art!
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  TO MARY.
+
+
+  Vainly, Mary, dost thou pray me
+    Heedless of thy charms to live,
+  If thou'dst have me, fair, obey thee,
+    Thou another heart must give.
+
+  One with stern indifference steeling,
+    That could know thee and be free,
+  One that all thy virtues feeling,
+    Could exist removed from thee.
+
+  That in which thine image blooming,
+    Holds an empire all its own,
+  Which, though thou to grief art dooming,
+    Lives, fair maid, in thee alone;
+
+  Every thought to thee addresses,
+    Filled by thee with visions bright,
+  Even 'midst sorrows, pains, distresses,
+    Thou'rt its comfort, hope, delight.
+
+  I be faithless! love avowing,
+    To thee first I bent my knee,
+  Even with soul thy looks endowing,
+    First I knew _it_ knowing _thee_.
+
+  Yes, my soul to thee returning,
+    Thine own gift do I restore,
+  Thou the offering proudly spurning,
+    I its charm can know no more.
+
+  Do not bid me, hope resigning,
+    My fond vows of love to cease,
+  How can I, in silence pining,
+    Cruel fair one, mar thy peace?
+
+
+
+
+
+
+N O T E.
+
+
+Of the following translation of Derjavin's Ode to God, universally
+esteemed as one of the sublimest effusions of the Russian Muse, I beg
+leave to say that my aim has been to render it into English as literally
+as the genius of our language would admit, without adding or suppressing a
+single thought, or amplifying a single expression, to accomplish which
+metrically would of course be impossible.
+
+If I have succeeded, my readers will be better able to judge whether this
+Ode, after having been translated into the Japanese language, merited the
+great honour of being suspended, embroidered with gold, in the temple of
+Jeddo, than they can be by a perusal of the highly poetic effort of Dr.
+Bowring. For, whilst he has adhered to the structure of versification
+adopted in the original, and in some parts has given its sense with
+remarkable accuracy, in others he has been less fortunate; and in
+venturing to change the Trinitarian faith of Derjavin to suit his own
+notions of the unity of the Supreme Being, he has taken a liberty with his
+author which cannot but be deemed unwarrantable.
+
+THE TRANSLATOR.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  TO GOD.
+
+  BY DERJAVIN.
+
+
+  O! Thou, infinite in space,
+  Existing in the motion of matter,
+  Eternal amidst the mutations of time,
+  Without person, in three persons the Divinity!
+  The single and omnipresent spirit,
+  To whom there is neither place nor cause,
+  Whom none could ever comprehend,
+  Who fillest all things with thyself,
+  Embracest, animatest, and preservest them,
+  Thou whom we denominate God!
+
+  Although a sublime mind might be able
+  To measure the depths of ocean,
+  To count the sands, the rays of the planets,
+  To thee there is neither number nor measure!
+  Enlightened spirits, although
+  Proceeding from thy light,
+  Cannot penetrate thy judgments;
+  Thought scarce dare lift itself to thee;
+  It is lost in thy greatness,
+  Like the past moment in eternity.
+
+  Thou calledst chaos into existence,
+  Before time, from the abyss of eternity,
+  And eternity, existing prior to all ages,
+  Thou foundedst within thyself.
+  Constituting thyself of thyself,
+  By means of thyself shining from thyself,
+  Thou art the light from which light first flowed;
+  Creating all things by a single word,
+  Extending thyself throughout the new creation,
+  Thou wast, thou art, thou shalt be for ever!
+
+  Thou unitest within thyself the chain of beings,
+  Upholdest and animatest it,
+  Thou connectest the end with the beginning,
+  And through death bestowest life.
+  As sparks shoot forth and scatter themselves,
+  Thus suns are born of thee:
+  As, in a cold and clear winter's day,
+  Particles of frost scintillate,
+  Whirl about, reel, and glisten,[1]
+  Even so do the stars in the abysses beneath thee!
+
+  Millions of lighted torches
+  Fly throughout infinite space,
+  They execute thy laws,
+  And shed life-creating rays.
+  But these fiery luminaries,
+  Or shining masses of crystal,
+  Or crowds of boiling golden waves,
+  Or blazing ether,
+  Or all the dazzling worlds united--
+  Compared to thee are like night compared to day.
+
+  Like a drop of water cast into the ocean
+  Is this whole firmament compared to thee.
+  But what is the universe which I behold,
+  And who am I, in thy presence?
+  Were I to add to the millions of worlds
+  Existing in the ocean of air,
+  A hundred fold as many other worlds--and then
+  Dare to compare them to thee,
+  They would scarcely appear an atom,
+  And I compared to thee--nothing!
+
+  Nothing! yet thou shinest in me
+  Through thy great goodness:
+  In me thou imagest thyself,
+  As the sun is reflected in a small drop of water.
+  Nothing! yet I am sensible of my existence,
+  By an indescribable longing I ascend
+  Steadfastly to a higher region:
+  My soul hopes to be even as thou,
+  It inquires, meditates, reasons;
+  I am, and doubtless thou must be.
+
+  THOU ART! the order of nature proclaims it;
+  My heart declares it to be so,
+  My mind assures me of it.
+  Thou art! and I am not, therefore, nothing!
+  I am a particle of the whole universe,
+  Placed, as I think, in that important
+  Middle point of being,
+  Where thou finishedst mortal creatures,
+  Where thou began'st heavenly spirits,
+  And the chain of all beings unitedst by me.
+
+  I am the bond of worlds existing everywhere;
+  I am the extreme grade of matter;
+  I am the centre of living things,
+  The commencing trait of the Divinity;
+  My body will resolve itself into ashes,
+  My mind commands the thunder.
+  I am a king, a slave, a worm, a god!
+  But, being thus wonderful,
+  From whence have I proceeded? This is unknown.
+  But I could not have existed of myself!
+
+  I am thy work, Creator!
+  I am the creature of thy supreme wisdom,
+  Fountain of life, Giver of blessings,
+  Soul and monarch of my soul!
+  It was necessary to thy justice
+  That my immortal being
+  Should traverse the abyss of death,
+  That my spirit should be veiled in perishable matter,
+  And that through death I should return,
+  Father! to thy immortality!
+
+  Inexplicable, incomprehensible Being!
+  I know that the imaginings
+  Of my soul are unable
+  Even to sketch thy shadow!
+  But, if it be our duty to praise thee,
+  Then it is impossible for weak mortals
+  Otherwise to render thee homage
+  Than, simply, to lift their hearts to thee,
+  To give way to boundless joy,
+  And shed tears of gratitude!
+
+
+[1] The full beauty of this metaphor can only be felt by those who have
+witnessed, in a high northern latitude during intensely cold and clear
+weather, the state of the atmosphere which the poet describes.
+
+TRANSLATOR.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Bakchesarian Fountain and Other
+Poems, by Alexander Pushkin and Various
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